The mist clung to the treetops like a warning left unsaid. SongLianpulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, wincing at the dull ache in her side.
The wound she'd taken from the Black Hall emissary was shallow, but it throbbed with each step down the rocky path. The shrine's revelations still rang in her mind, a hollow echo of forgotten truths and ancient power.
Beside her, YunZhenwalked in silence, his face unreadable. The sleeve of his tunic was torn and streaked with dried blood, but he paid it no mind. His hand never strayed far from the hilt of his sword, not since the mountain.
Something had changed in him since they left that shrine. Something quiet, heavy. They didn't speak, not because there was nothing to say, but because the words were like the weight of prophecy hung too thick in the air.
As the mountain thinned into foothills, and the familiar curve of the forest path came into view, Song Lian slowed. Just beyond the trees, they caught sight of Xingzhao, nestled at the edge of the valley. The village had grown. New homes lined the clearing. Smoke curled from well-tended chimneys.
Children ran barefoot past carts of freshly harvested roots. In the distance, the river gleamed under the late afternoon sun. Peace. It looked like peace. But Song Lian knew better. Peace was a fragile illusion. And illusions could shatter.
They stepped into the village quietly. The people recognized them immediately.
"Lord Yun!" someone called.
ZhouMin emerged from the main longhouse, followed by a half-dozen others. His sharp eyes darted to Yun Zhen's bloodied sleeve, then to the taut expression on Song Lian's face.
"You're hurt," Zhou Min said.
"We're alive," Yun Zhen replied. "And we have much to discuss."
Zhou Min gave a curt nod. "Come. You'll need food and a fire. Then you'll speak."
They followed him through the village. People watched from porches and windows. Some bowed low. Others whispered. One small boy offered Song Lian a sprig of wildflowers. She took it with a tight smile, her thoughts still on the shadow that had crumbled into ash beneath her blade.
Later, after their wounds were bound and their clothes changed, Song Lian and Yun Zhen stood before the village's leadership in the longhouse. The room was lit by lanterns, shadows flickering along the wooden beams.
ZhouMin, seated at the center, steepled his fingers.
GaoLan, the perceptive former merchant, leaned forward with keen eyes.
ChenShu, the ex-soldier who trained the militia, stood arms crossed near the hearth. Yun Zhen spoke first.
"We were ambushed by a Black Hall emissary in the mountains."
Gasps broke the silence. Gao Lan sat back, stunned. Chen Shu muttered a curse under his breath.
"They've found us already?" Zhou Min asked.
"No," Song Lian said. "Not quite. They were watching the shrine. A place of ancient power. One that should have been forgotten."
"They know who I am," Yun Zhen added.
"And they know I'm alive."
"And worse," Song Lian said, her voice low, "they're not working alone. There are... forces tied to them. Forces not of this world."
Her words hung like fog in the chamber.
"What does this mean for Xingzhao?" Gao Lan asked.
"It means we prepare," Chen Shu said before either of them could answer. "Train every man and woman who can hold a blade. Stockpile food. Reinforce the watchtowers. If the Black Hall comes, we'll be ready."
"We've barely stabilized," Zhou Min argued. "We have refugees with no experience in battle, children, the sick…"
"Then we teach them to survive," Yun Zhen said firmly. "We don't have a choice."
Over the following days, Xingzhao shifted. The village that once bustled with trade and laughter now braced for war. Chen Shu led drills every morning. Spears were carved, bows strung, and old swords cleaned and sharpened.
Song Lian said little. Instead, she disappeared into the forest each night, sometimes at dawn, sometimes after dusk. She returned with sacks of grain, bundles of lumber, sealed crates of dried meat, tools, medicine, even nails and saws. When questioned, she offered the same quiet answer.
"Old merchant ties. I made arrangements years ago."
People accepted it for now. But GaoLan, ever observant, began to watch her more closely. And still, Song Lian kept her secret.
One evening, Song Lian sat beneath the willow tree by the stream. The first stars flickered in the twilight sky. The river flowed with a gentle hush, and the wind stirred the grass like a lullaby. Yun Zhen found her there.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Too much noise in my mind."
"Same."
He sat beside her, close enough for their shoulders to brush. She didn't move away.
"Do you think we'll survive this?" she asked after a long silence.
"I don't know," Yun Zhen answered honestly. "But I'll fight for this place. For you."
She turned to him, her heart beating faster. Their eyes met.
And though he didn't touch her, though he didn't speak the words, she saw them in his gaze: I'mfallingforyou.
She swallowed hard. "We have more to do tomorrow."
"Yes," he said. "But tonight, we rest. Together."
At dawn, the scout returned. WeiAn, a quick-footed youth who had served as a courier during his time in the border provinces, burst through the gate, his cloak torn, his horse lathered in sweat. He dismounted before the longhouse and shouted, "A message from Linbei! Urgent!"
The council gathered at once. Wei An handed the sealed parchment to Zhou Min. His hands shook.
"We were scouting the eastern route," Wei An said, breathless. "Stopped in Linbei for news. A Yun envoy passed through. They're heading north. But there's more."
He swallowed. "The court knows Lord Yun Zhen lives."
The room went still. "Impossible," Gao Lan whispered. "There were no witnesses…"
"Someone spoke," Yun Zhen said grimly.
Zhou Min's hand clenched around the parchment. "If they know, then…"
"They'll send more than just whispers next time," Chen Shu finished.
Song Lian turned toward the door. Outside, the village stirred awake, unaware that the storm was now closer than ever.
That night, as the stars wheeled above, a scream cut through the air from the western watchtower.
Song Lian was the first to reach the ramparts, Yun Zhen close behind her. There, silhouetted in the torchlight, was the sentry. His face was pale as ash. He pointed toward the forest.
"They're coming."
Out beyond the tree line, barely visible between the branches, hundreds of faint green lights flickered like lanterns. But they weren't lanterns. They were eyes.
Black Hall. They had arrived.